


The Myth

by SomebodyLost



Category: Naruto
Genre: Crack, Family, Gen, Humor, Prequel, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomebodyLost/pseuds/SomebodyLost
Summary: Rumors speak of a legend in the Uchiha clan — the reason, everybody in Konoha says, why That Clan is considered insane. Invited to a dinner with the main family, Sakura learns that the myth may or may not be true, but the Uchiha being insane? Oh, definitely. [CRACK, prequel to a future ItaSaku]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~ I started writing this by September-ish… last year? Years ago? Not so sure anymore… It was awesome coincidence that one of the prompts in the ItaSaku festival back then was “Mythology”, hehe.
> 
> ~ Also, please don’t overanalyze this fic (see **_MST3K Mantra_** or **_Bellisario’s Maxim_** on TV Tropes)! it’s supposed to be crack-ish. Just enjoy. ;D
> 
> ~ I credit **rabidbehemoth** for her inputs and edits! Marvelous thanks as always! :D

“Try the dumplings, Sakura-chan!”

Sakura smiled in delight as her teammate’s mother enthusiastically handed her a plate full of potstickers. Mikoto-san was nice, and it reminded the girl of her own mother, albeit more ‘mothering’. 

The woman also blatantly stared at her for a full minute while she picked and chewed a dumpling.

Beside Sakura, Sasuke twitched, decidedly uncomfortable at being placed smack dab between his mother and her stare’s target. Knowing his mother and her latest craze for the last eight months…

“You’re so cute!” Mikoto inevitably cooed, ignoring her son’s sigh. “I hope that my baby is as cute as you!” She patted her round belly lovingly.

“Mom, you’re embarrassing me,” her son finally grumbled, cheeks nearly matching his teammate’s hair color. At the sight of his blush, the ‘Terrible Duo’ across the table broke into grins.

“Oh come on, Sasuke-chan, “ one of the half of the duo, his damnable cousin, Shisui, teased, “you don’t need any help in that department.”

“No thanks to you!” Sasuke glared hotly at the two pranksters opposite the table. More often than not, he was dragged through a lot of embarrassing situations because of Shisui and his companion. If he wasn’t there to reel them in, the two would’ve been in a lot of trouble.

“Yeah, Sasuke-te—” Naruto, the main generator of the pranks, broke at the sharp look the bastard’s father gave him. Fugaku-oji never liked it when their sons — including the imaginary one — get insulted, so he just grinned sheepishly. He opened his mouth, but a strong grip at his cheeks prevented any witty insult to come out.

“You’re so cuuuute!” Mikoto squealed, pinching the boy’s whiskered cheeks.  She pulled the skin between her fingers wide, making Naruto wonder if this was minor punishment for name-calling her son on a regular basis.

“How can _that_ be cute?” Sakura muttered in disgust when the ‘cute’ boy tried shoveling food while his cheeks were being pinched. If he wasn’t the Hokage’s son, the girl would’ve punched him by now.

Trying (and failing) to hide his smirk behind his chopsticks, Sasuke sent a look of victory to his rival. Not only was he experiencing the, as Shisui aptly named, ‘Smothering Mothering’ he and his cousin had endured for months, but the aforementioned cousin was also surreptitiously stealing the idiot’s food under his nose.

In the midst of the crazy, Uchiha Fugaku sat serenely at the head of the table, used to the antics. Minato and his brood often ate with them due to their wives’ friendship, and the men found themselves developing a similar sort of kinship over the years. Like Minato, Fugaku loved his own wife very dearly, despite the monumental load of despair they often brought. Well, Mikoto was understandably upset (to put it mildly) with his hand with the… _issue_ with Itachi, but compared to Minato, who married _Kushina_ of all people…

Fugaku eyed his friends’ child as the boy managed to slurp a gallon of ramen in one minute. He was well on his way to surpass Kushina’s hijinks on and off the table, added with the unfortunate childish abandon of defying dinner etiquette, too. He had continuously seen Minato and Kushina make efforts to school their child to behave at the table, but as soon as Naruto was out of his parent’s sights, he would always revert to his antics. 

Regardless of the surety of scolding, Naruto ate on happily, quite aware that the Uchiha family wasn’t too inclined towards food like the Akimichi. And at home, he would have to squabble with his little sister for the food, so it was always a nice guarantee to get his uncontested fill whenever he was at the bastard’s place. Besides, he was doing them a favor; his mom once said that accepting a host’s generosity was a sign of gratefulness.

But all good things have to come to an end, because as usual, the bastard’s grumpy dad would halt his essential nourishment. 

“That’s enough,” the Uchiha patriarch commanded, and Naruto grudgingly obeyed. If there was one thing the family would fight for, it was for their “son”, despite the mocking and pitiful looks they received for it.  “Leave some for Itachi.”

Sakura perked up. Yesterday, when Obitoi-sensei asked them to introduce themselves, Sasuke intensely declared that his dream was “to show Itachi to everybody”. The resulting resigned expressions on her sensei and other teammate’s faces peaked her interest. Was it the same myth that her grandmother told her about? Obito-sensei had unfortunately moved the question to Naruto quickly though, so Sakura didn’t get a chance to ask questions.

Until now. “Who’s Itachi?”

A blush formed on her cheeks when everybody fell quiet and turned towards her, yet Sakura held her gaze resolutely. The mystery nagged at her, begging to be solved. Every time she would hear the words ‘Uchiha’ and ‘Itachi’, it would always be accompanied by either a snort or a shake of the head. Even her mother formed a very strange expression of a mixture of pity and humor when she had mentioned earlier that she was going to her teammate’s house for a celebratory dinner to meet his parents, the Uchiha clan head and his wife. 

The uncomfortable silence stretched. It seemed that nobody was willing to answer her, but on meeting the youngest Uchiha’s gaze, she found herself wishing for a place to hide. Inferno burned in Sasuke’s onyx eyes, a purpose ignited. 

“He’s my brother,” the young Uchiha answered. And as if a dam had been burst, he stood from his place and proudly declared, “HE’S MY BROTHER!”

“And there he goes,” Naruto muttered, licking his bowl clean. He looked forlornly at the remaining ramen, located on the empty place on the table that the bastard always insisted remain unoccupied.

At his side, Shisui firmly kept his blank expression. His station at the clan and respect for Mikoto-baa and Fugaku-sama prevented him from voicing his opinions, but like the rest of younger generation, he agreed with Naruto’s sentiment. The rumors circulating about the Head Family made the clan severely question their leader, and if it wasn’t for his hard work and the Fourth’s interference, the clan would’ve fallen apart. 

Another point for Fugaku-sama was Sasuke; if he hadn’t been born, Fugaku-sama’s place as clan head would’ve been challenged, and with the murmurs of dissent aired around at that time, a transfer of power to the more power-hungry council members would’ve led the clan to a less favorable path.  Nowadays, the clan was fully accepted by the village, and despite the teasing and commiserating talk that always involved his clan, Shisui felt that it was preferable to loss of life.

Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be happy if he heard something different, even once, in regards to people’s reaction about hearing the issue with “Itachi”. Shisui warily watched the girl’s reaction.

For her part, Sakura was finding herself believing more and more of her grandparents’ claims that the Uchiha clan was insane. The look in her normally cheerful Uchiha teammate bordered on outright lunacy. “O-oh, the one you mentioned y-yesterday?” she stuttered, subconsciously leaning away.

Sasuke saw the chance for his dream to come true: to convert one of the sheep, the disbelievers. For Konoha — and eventually, the world — to see the light. Before the clan elders banned the mention of the Myth, people always laughed at him whenever he told them of Itachi, but his teammate is young, still fresh. And she came from a civilian family; maybe she’ll believe him more easily. He nodded frantically, smiling maniacally at the golden opportunity, but Naruto groaned before he could get another word in. 

“He doesn’t exist!” the orange idiot butted in. “I’ve been visitin’ here for years!”

Sharingan activated from the pain of repeated betrayal of his so-called ‘best-friend’ at this subject, Sasuke swiveled to him. “Yes, he does! Just because you never saw him doesn’t mean he doesn’t!” he snarled. 

Sakura didn’t know that only her head was visible from underneath the table until her teammate teared off his searing gaze off her.

“Bastard, you gotta listen to me!” Naruto’s agitation was so palpable that he forgot his caution not to call his best friend names in front of his parents. “If he cared for you like you say he does, then he would’ve popped in here by now to prove you right!”

“He doesn’t care for anyone but his family, that’s why he doesn’t care to show up in front of others!”

“Yeah, letting the Uchiha clan be the laughingstock of the village sounds like he _really_ cares for you.”

“I don’t care about them!”

“Well, I do! I’m your only non-Uchiha friend because of this ridiculous myth!” 

By this point, both twelve year-olds have stood up and are shouting at each other, barely restrained from pouncing on the other. Fugaku-sama and his wife wore resigned expressions; it was a regular occurrence whenever the issue of Itachi was brought up that it came to the point that the most effective response was just to wait for inevitable battle in the backyard. It was simply too tiring to butt in without either children dragging in concerns about parentage or any other random insults that affected everyone in hearing. 

Shisui blinked, noticing that the new guest, Sakura, was missing, but her wooden chair was trembling. He peered underneath the table and saw the missing girl, a death-grip on the chair’s legs. Making a decision that would speed things to the inevitable, he grabbed the nearest kid and flickered to the yard. Before Naruto could comprehend anything, he was dropped into the koi pond. 

A second later, Sasuke’s chakra signature vanished from her side. Sakura snapped her head towards his seat; he was _there_ , but now, he was just… _not_. Soon, a cry of  “DAMN YOU SHISUI! YOU TOO, IDIOT!” echoed from outside. Halfway to the twilight zone, Sakura couldn’t help but blink, and in the next moment, a knee was right in front of her. 

“Are you alright, Sakura-chan?” Shisui asked kindly, kneeling by the hiding girl. She was new here, after all, so it’ll take time for her to get used to shenanigans. Still, no reason not to help her through the trauma. “Sorry ‘bout that. That’s just their way of showing how much they care for each other.” He offered a hand to her.

Sakura tentatively placed her hand in his. “O-oh, um, really?” The sound of “WHY YOU — BAAAAASTAAARD, MY MOM’S GONNA KILL ME!” displaced any romantic atmosphere her Inner conjured from being touched by a hot guy.

Shisui smiled, even as his co-prankster multiplied himself in the background. “Yep. It’s a regular thing whenever the rumor gets mentioned, so we try to avoid whenever we can, but Sasuke…” he shrugged, knowing that the girl saw the crazed display of her teammate earlier.

Dark, bloodshot eyes and a manic smile flitted through Sakura’s mind. She shivered, unconsciously grabbing and tightening her hold on Shisui’s hand for security. “Why is he like that?” she asked, in fear and awe.

Shisui’s smile strained. He didn’t know that such a petite, cute girl could choke his hand dead. “B-because no one would believe him that Itachi exists…” he managed weakly.

One of the skills one has to develop when in ANBU was the mastery of showing emotions. As one of the best ANBU in his generation, Shisui indeed has that skill, and he was using it now in full to prevent any cries of pain from spilling forth. The Uchiha clan didn’t need him to disgrace it anymore than the rumor already had.

Unfortunately, his efforts at masking his pain was for naught; the girl wouldn’t have thought of him any less if he gave any indication of his discomfort, but alas, such was the “Do your clan proud” doctrine deeply ingrained in the loyal nin. Of course, he subtly tried to move his arm away or communicate his plight to the others via the Uchiha Eye Language (the practical language any Uchiha should learn to ‘speak’ with their eyeballs before progressing to the art of casting genjutsu) but the Uchiha head couple were busy eating to block out the noises from the backyard. 

Unable to decipher the Uchiha equivalent of a distress signal that Shisui was practically ‘shouting’, Sakura misinterpreted his feeble voice and darting eyes as the notion that he was looking for eavesdroppers before he could share a great secret with her. Sakura leaned closer and tightened her hold, increasing every second in suspense (and pain).

“I-Itachi is the eldest son of M-Mikoto-sama and Fugaku-sama,” Shisui said as he silently mourned for his hand, “but no one has ever seen h-him.” A slight stream of chakra swelled to his arm from the girl, preventing any chakra-related methods to break himself free without severing his arm. Shisui couldn’t help but raise a pained brow, impressed; she was doing it unconsciously, too.

“What do you mean?” Sakura furrowed her brows.

“ _No one_ has seen him,” Shisui stressed, which was easy to do because he _is_ stressed, “No one, except Mikoto-sama and Fugaku-sama, and maybe Naruto-kun’s parents.” 

“Wait, no, wait, you mean that… no one has seen him, _really_ seen him, but they have heard of him?” Sakura couldn’t keep off the incredulity from her face. “But since there was no sighting, people began to assume that Mikoto-sama and Fugaku-sama are just… making him up?”

Shisui just nodded, face pale.

“But what about the others, the clan members? Itachi-san is the clan heir, so the clan would’ve been surely informed, right? And the leaders of the other clans, too.” Sakura paused. “He _is_ the clan heir, right?”

“A decade ago, yes, he was,” a voice sighed. Sakura turned towards the Uchiha matriarch rubbing her stomach soothingly, obviously thinking of her babies, in and out of the womb. 

Sakura opened her mouth to ask a question when someone declared something that that someone wouldn’t declare if his mind was sound.

“I’M GONNA BE HOKAGE,” cackled Sasuke, “AND I’M GOING TO PROVE ITACHI’S EXISTENCE!” 

Eerily, his face abruptly blanked. Then he looked at his so-called ‘best friend’, and smirked. 

“Believe it.”

Sakura gaped. That was practically Naruto’s dream, to surpass his father, and to threaten that…

Sure enough, a war cry from a multitude of orange shook the Uchiha compound, and the sight of the insane Uchiha was covered by waves of the garish color.

“They’re so cute!” gushed a voice destroyed the state of morbid curiosity Sakura was in. The girl slowly turned and witnessed a clapping Mikoto trying to bounce on her seat. Wasn’t she just depressed earlier?

“Hormones, Sakura-chan,” a voice replied to her thoughts. Sakura swiveled to her left; there was Shisui, in the farthest corner of the room from her.

“Mikoto-sama’s mood swings are wild,” Shisui explained as he subtly cradled his broken arm. He smiled disarmingly, as a proper host should towards a particularly kind but unconsciously annoying visitor. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Okay…” Sakura slowly nodded, remembering bits of stories that Sasuke always told them of his mother’s pregnancy. To steer the conversation back to the topic, she asked, “Can you please tell me more about the, um, ‘myth’?”

“Oh, this tale requires dessert!” Mikoto chirped, apparently taking the mantle of a storyteller. “Fugaku, _dear_ , please get the ice cream. Make my special.” Her eyes were steel when she mentioned her husband’s name, but they turned to quickly became mush by the sound of the ‘special’. 

Once her husband obediently ambled away — as he should, Mikoto thought — she began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fugaku meets a familiar face in an unlikely place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please don't question the lack of logic! Roll with the flow~!

Away from the mayhem and in the safe confines of the kitchen, Fugaku sighed. He knew that even after all these years, his wife still harbored great resentment because of his part in Itachi’s isolation. Only duty and love made her stay by his side, and the latter had to be painstakingly rekindled over the years. When she finally let him lay with her, he thoroughly displayed his gratefulness and loyalty to her, and it resulted into the child in Mikoto’s womb at the present.

Still, as the hormones run rampant in her, Mikoto wouldn’t be able to control her impulse to kill him if he was on sight for the early parts of the story. It was kind enough of her to warn him away, and he fully intend to enjoy the rare peace he could get since Kushina and her brood started visiting.

“Where are the special bowls?” he muttered to himself after retrieving the strawberry-and tea flavored ice cream from the freezer. Everything in the kitchen looked the same — flat, polished brown — to give emphasis to Mikoto’s special cabinet. Even the fridge was camouflaged as a cabinet, useful to prevent Kushina’s son from raiding it.

Naruto and his parents were practically family, with everything they had all suffered through during the aftermath of the Kyuubi attack. But Sakura was a guest, and guests are needed to be given special treatment, Mikoto had said, even if the guest was a child. _Or else._

To his chagrin, Fugaku found that the thought of his flayed skin hanging and swinging on the clothesline came easily as breathing. It was one of Mikoto’s promised punishments for him, made special because of the issue with their eldest son, and he had experienced enough trauma to know that Mikoto can fulfill her promise despite her round belly.

A deep sigh of abject misery permeated through the kitchen air. He now knew that what he did was wrong, but it was frustrating that relationship with his wife had degraded to revolve around their lost son. If it wasn’t for Minato, Fugaku would never had gotten through the shield called Kushina to get to his wife. 

Lost in his thoughts, the Uchiha patriarch chose a random cabinet and opened it none too gently… and met a blank stare.

“Itachi,” he wearily greeted, “please pass the bowls.”

The wooden cabinet was three feet high and less than two feet wide, a miracle that Itachi could fit in there alongside all the special kitchenware that Mikoto always lavishly spent her money on. Fugaku and Sasuke always steered clear of it for fear of skin-flaying, or worse, but Itachi was rarely seen that it made him special enough to bask in the special wares without repercussions. Mikoto would not punish her often-absent baby.

His son wordlessly handed the ceramic bowls he had stacked on his hands, no sound produced, not even the clink of porcelain. All that while, he didn’t change his expression nor take off his eyes off the Uchiha clan head.

Fugaku pretended that he didn’t notice how swiftly his son’s fingers retreated before they touched his own. It hurt, the knowledge that your own son didn’t trust you, but Fugaku firmly kept his gaze set, trying hard to memorize his son’s features without the Sharingan. Itachi would run away if he sees even a glimmer of red in his eyes.

The last he had seen his son was… six months ago. He looked the same as before; nearly indiscernible eyes that peeked through long, unkempt hair. Twin lines that ran scant inches from his nose to parallel areas of his cheeks — something that Fugaku only saw because he was looking for it. Anything else was covered by a thick blanket that masked his son’s posture, weight, and height. The only body parts that were visible aside from his face were his hands, and even that was stretching the truth; right now, Itachi’s fingers barely skimmed the outside of his blanket.

After Itachi turned five years old, Fugaku has never seen how his eldest son grow, much less stand up.

“How are you?” he asked as a familiar jolt of guilt and pain surfaced. He wished to say something else, but he feared that Itachi would disappear at the slightest nod to the wrong topic.

His son didn’t blink. “I’m fine.”

A standard polite response one usually reserves for strangers or acquaintances, not family.

The uncharacteristic yet too familiar urge to cry came to the Uchiha patriarch. Stoicism generally was often used by the clan as a mask to deal with their pain of losing their loved ones, but it often bled into their everyday lives that outside parties always made the assumption that the Uchiha were just uncaring assholes. But the clan didn’t care about that — or rather, used to not care until Minato came and fixed things — family came above all else. It was thus an unspoken rule to drop your mask as much as you can around your loved ones because you never know until they’re gone.

If it wasn’t for the Sharingan’s clear and total memory recall, Fugaku would have forgotten how his son made an expression different from the impassive yet obviously wary face he now always sees on Itachi.

How had their relationship deteriorated into this? 

No, Fugaku sighed; he knew how.

Partly because of the then-clan elders’ insistence — _Senile fools_ , he thought hatefully — and partly because of his own young delusions of how great and mighty the clan was compared to the others, Fugaku had taken a young four and a half Itachi to the edges of the battlefield during the Third Shinobi War. His son was a genius, after all; he’ll be able to adapt and grow up faster to assume the duty and responsibility of an heir and bring the Uchiha clan to more greatness.

Instead of a shining future though, Itachi retreated to a shell, and secluded himself from society.

Coaxes, rebukes, treats — none worked. The boy would stubbornly declare that he didn’t want to be a shinobi, to kill. For some reason, the boy got it in his head that that was the only thing shinobi did.

The elders ordered his punishment, but the boy did the unthinkable — he told the Fourth about private clan business, when Minato was visiting with Kushina.

Rumors had spread afterwards — most likely that bastard Shimura’s fault — and shame washed over the Uchiha clan then; they had an errant, uncontrollable heir, or to the civilians’ point of view, that they regularly push children to horrors. Inevitably, the pressure from all sides made Fugaku fold. The clan’s reputation was in tatters, and his fellow clan heads all look down at him because he was failing as a father, and it was all because his son refused to obey.

“I never want to see you again,” he had declared in cold fury towards his crying son.

And he didn’t. Until two years has passed.

Guilt slowly piled as high as the problems of his clan and marriage, but when he had at last received the opportunity to see his son, all that regret was swiftly replaced by anger. The clan have severely suffered a low morale, and if not for the efforts of the Fourth and the clan heads (whom Minato had managed to recruit over the years), the clan who have done something drastic. Seeing the reason for all the trouble brought all the negative back into light, and he had rebuked his son again, and watched hope die from Itachi’s eyes.

Perhaps Itachi would have altogether disappeared if his wife didn’t begged for forgiveness and stopped pressuring him about shinobi matters. Instead, Itachi was there, but sparsely; evidences of his presence only lent to random household chores being done, or the food vanishing once you turn your back. Sometimes, Mikoto would be seen talking to furnitures and the like, so it could only be assumed that Itachi hid in those things despite thorough inspection after his wife’s conversation provided none of his presence.

Suddenly, Fugaku was struck how mad he must look from an outsider’s point of view, conversing with an inanimate object.

Then he ignored his discomfort and the urge to check for watchers. The person in front of him was more important. Itachi revealed himself — a rare occurrence for Fugaku altogether. It meant that he wanted something that only he, the father, could provide.

“Do you need something?” the Uchiha patriarch tentatively asked.

Eyes that he remembered to be bright and curious blankly stared. “There are guests,” his son finally stated after a long minute.

Fugaku wished to close his eyes for patience, but feared that Itachi disappear if he did so. “Yes, there are,” he replied. “Sasuke recently became a genin, and he invited his teammates for dinner.” Something to draw his son into a conversation. Itachi probably already knew of these things — he always knew everything about the household, Mikoto said. For him to inquire of the guests meant that he was interested about them. Since his isolation, he never asked about the others, except one.

“Naruto and Sasuke are pleased,” his son’s soft voice cut through the memories of That Guest.

Taking the statement as a question, Fugaku simply inclined his head. The two had been best friends since birth, and they had aspired to be shinobi for years, after all.

“The girl. Her hair is pink.”

The Uchiha clan head waited for more, but apparently, that was it. “Yes, her hair is pink,” he replied.

Inane statements he normally didn’t partake in, but he had gotten used to the fact that his son would always be bizarre — a sign of genius or insanity? Or even autism? No Yamanaka has ever managed to deal with his son directly — and if he wanted to spend time with him, he should simply just go along with it. 

“Pink. Why?”

From ‘guests’ to ‘pink’ — yes, conversation with his son always involved pulling hair and teeth. It was always difficult to answer and keep track of the conversation. But Fugaku answered anyway. “I don’t know.”

A small furrow of the brow indicated that Itachi was trying to solve this latest conundrum. Fugaku is no psychiatrist, but even he can tell that his son was so socially stunted that almost anything from the outside world became a wonder to him.

He brushed away the familiar sadness of losing the chance to raise his son before jumping at the opening he found. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Again, a long moment of staring ensued, and Fugaku resisted the urge to fidget as he returned his son’s gaze. Then he heard him reply.

“The last person I revealed myself to ran away and spread the rumors.”

Seven years ago, in an attempt to bridge the gap between the Uchiha clan and the village of Konoha, the Fourth Hokage had let the head family host the daimyo’s representative at his home. Itachi had still been considered the heir at that time, so when Mikoto received the opportunity, she told him that he was to dress appropriately and greet the honored guest and his guards. He refused, until his mother told him that it could be a good chance to address the necessity of shinobi to the daimyo.

A pity that Mikoto had failed to specify where and when he was to greet the guests.

But it wasn’t all her fault; they both failed to take into account that Itachi didn’t like to mingle with groups of people, so it was inevitable that he greeted the delegate when the latter was alone.

Itachi also didn’t like being seen in daylight or in vulnerable places — actually, at all — so he greeted him at night. The problem is, the time was near midnight, when everybody had turned in for the night, so the lights have been minimized. Especially inside the guest rooms.

Another thing to take into account was, by that time, Itachi had finally gotten over his anathema of Sharingan — for his own eyes, at least — that Mikoto had frequently seen him using it in the dead of the night in lightless places of the house.

And last of all was that, despite his faults, Itachi was a kind child. Polite, too — that was why he did not raise his voice, because he only wanted to greet the guest without awakening the others.

So one could only guess what the delegate thought when he was all alone in the dark, when he saw eerie red eyes peering at them as the shadows whispered, “Hello.”

Despite the delegate screaming mad, Minato had optimistically proclaimed that the future will be secure for both the clan and village, but privately, Fugaku thought the clan’s reputation had already been shredded, dragged through the mud, then burned to ashes.

And they were both right.

Rumors flew, that the Uchiha was haunted — after all, how did one boy get pass through the delegate’s guards? — and that because of this, they were crazy. Instead of being shunned, the curious people flocked to the Uchiha, making the clan feel part of the village faster and better than before. They thought that they were doing a good cause for helping the clan of crazies; for some reason, the simple explanation of the clan’s collective ‘crazy’ was enough to make them throw their past perceptions away, just because the Uchiha finally _Made Sense_. 

Even now, the Uchiha couldn’t decide whether to be happy with the village’s united misguided notion of acceptance or kill themselves from the pity.

“He doesn’t have the Sharingan,” Fugaku replied in response to his son’s statement, “so you should’ve greeted him with a light.” Then he frowned, because the nagging feeling that Itachi would also greet the girl itched. “Neither can the girl see you.”

To his surprise, Itachi nodded, accepting his counsel. “Mother said that it’s polite to introduce oneself.”

Not minding the fact that he never introduced himself to other guests after That Guest, Fugaku simply focused on the hope of his son reintegrating back into society. He nodded back. “Yes, tell her who you are.”

Then his son’s thoughtful expression shuttered back into blank. “I do not want to be a shinobi.”

...How the hell did he go there? Fugaku has been careful not to mention anything shinobi-related, except that little bit of Sasuke attaining genin status. He resisted the urge to throw his hands and instead heavily sighed. “Itachi, I’m not going to force you anymore into becoming something you didn’t want.”

But the suspicion, once aroused, was difficult to to wipe from his son’s eyes. Itachi eyed him, long and assessing before he declared, “The ice cream is melting. Good night, father.”

Fugaku tiredly inhaled, deep and equally assessing. He could at least smell that his son isn’t injured or stinky. Just… the smell of mothballs, fabric softener, and dishwashing liquid. Nothing personal, not like his scent when he was just born… 

“Good night, son.”

Knowing that it was what his son wanted, Fugaku closed the door of the furniture, slow because he didn’t wish to frighten Itachi, but also because he was loathed to not see him again. There was also a small hope that Itachi would stop the door from closing and just _linger_ , but it never happened. The cupboard soon closed with muted finality, and Fugaku stepped back.

A few blinks reoriented him back to the real world; the few times he had talked with his son always lent him a strange sense that he was stepping into another world, a place out of time. Most likely because of the rarity of their confrontations and his son’s otherworldliness that they became precious. 

The wooden door to Mikoto’s special wares stood silent, as if mocking Fugaku that it held his most cherished treasure. The urge to yank the door open was strong, but he knew that Itachi would not be there by that time, and Mikoto would do worse than flay his skin if he got her ‘special babies’ destroyed.

Minato’s words came to him then, “Think positive. To change your clan you must change yourself first.” 

Yes… he was able to talk with his son, wasn’t he?

With a small smile, Fugaku grabbed the wasabi paste and mashed it with the strawberry-and-tea ice cream in one of the bowls.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakura questions the probability of the Myth's reality and the Uchiha Matriarch's questionable food of choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short chapter, but again: DO NOT QUESTION THE INSANITYGUIBDKSDSDJKSJDVSDKD

The evening grew late.

As it was because of her fussing of her guest’s otherworldly cuteness that disabled the cute girl from leaving earlier, Mikoto told the girl to simply sleep at one of the extra bedrooms. Shisui had already left to go to a medic (for some reason, he was busy twitching confusing eye-messages of “WHY ME,” “THE PAIN,” and “AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE”) while the other boys have already went upstairs. Her husband retreated to his study for some last minute work.

“Don’t worry,” Mikoto assured the Cute Girl, “Naruto-kun often sleeps here, so you don’t have to worry about the other rumor of our clan’s infectious crazy.”

 _That’s debatable_ , Sakura thought, watching in morbid fascination as the older female ate an abominable concoction of wasabi and strawberry-tea ice cream. Outward, she asked, “What about, um, Itachi-san?”

Earlier, Mikoto-san had been burning with indignation as she shared the stories of her baby’s treatment when Fugaku-sama emerged from the kitchen in awful timing. As the patriarch was busy dodging various cutlery and furniture thrown by his wife, Naruto had taken the chance to pounce on Itachi-san’s ramen while Sakura and the others took the chance to pounce to safety. On hearing Naruto’s loud anguish, a curious Sakura had peeked from under the safety of the table and saw Naruto on his knees, cursing the heavens, but no sight nor smell of the ramen, not even spills. It was like a ghost had grabbed the bowl full of food in the midst of chaos, completely unnoticed. 

At that moment, Sakura's back had crawled; the Myth was most likely real, the previously cool and hot Shisui-san could sing a higher note than she can when hit with a stray fork at his nether regions, and more importantly, staying here any longer may mean the end of sanity.

“He’s our guardian angel,” Mikoto explained as she smiled, shaking the Cute Girl from her thoughts. After scraping her bowl clean to the point that it almost didn't need to be washed, Mikoto promptly reached for the tub of ice cream.

Sakura frowned, half in awe that her host was still hungry another round of her craving, and half in reasonable skepticism. It might be a little rude and ungrateful, but she really couldn’t believe the fantastical notion of a civilian hermit being the nightly protector of a shinobi family. Though the thought prompted a question. “Doesn’t he sleep?”

Now reaching for a tube of wasabi paste, Mikoto answered, “He’s human, dear, but I understand your question.” Her smile dimmed. “I just don’t know when or where he sleeps.”

“…Ever since this started?” Sakura asked in mixed awe and dread. The Uchiha matriarch has put two scoops of strawberry-tea ice cream into the dollop of wasabi, and proceeded to mash them together into a light brown sludge, then licked the spoon without preamble. Sakura flinched at the mother’s pleased expression.

“Yes,” Mikoto answered pleasantly. Then without warning, she burst in tears.

Somewhat alarmed, Sakura stood and cautiously made her to the other side of the table. The crying mother did show she could flip a table to plant accurately at her moving target's face. Then again, she might just be having a strong awakening from her senses from eating deplorable dessert. “Mikoto-san?”

“I MISS MY BABY!” Mikoto bawled as all Uchiha propriety flew out the window. “All those birthdays! All those—“ the rest dissolved into incoherent babbles of her raven-haired angel. She clutched the nearest object in despair — her bowl of wasabi and strawberry ice-cream-tea — and the feel of the cold porcelain reminded her of her need.  Mikoto sobbed, and shoveled a spoon to her mouth.

Despite the slightly (very) pathetic, sad, and disgusting sight, the woman’s words stirred something within Sakura. How did it feel to pass a birthday, something that was supposed to be a joyous celebration, when the celebrant refused to show himself, very far but obviously achingly near? How did it feel to have your own little boy run from you, _fear_ you, like you’re the nightmare you’re supposed to comfort him from? How did it feel to never be able to kiss your son goodnight, all because he said that it made him vulnerable to people who want him to do something that went against his beliefs?

Seeing the kind-hearted pregnant mother breakdown over a bowl of suspicious content made Sakura’s heart constrict. On one hand, what Itachi-san just did was extremely selfish, dragging his family through pain and humiliation just to escape, but… learning about the lengths the clan went to get their errant heir back, she also felt a little bit justified on his behalf.

“There, there?” she hesitantly patted the mother’s arm when her cries subsided, the bowl empty. 

“I’m sorry,” Mikoto sniffed, smiling gratefully. “It’s my third time getting pregnant, yet the hormones still manage to beat me every single time.”

Sakura merely smiled, tongue frozen when Mikoto reached to her ingredients to make a new batch of the unholy concoction. “Everything will be alright,” she managed weakly.

A new spoon of sludge in her mouth, Mikoto moaned in delight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new myth is born...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I apologize for the lateness. Real Life was hectic. And the company I work for blocked Ao3, so I wasn't able to upload anymore to my lone source of desktop computering. Uploading via mobile just produces messes for me. D:
> 
> Again, I thank **rabidbehemoth** for her input years ago for this fic. Go check her out!

Perched upside down at the eaves of the roof above the screen doors leading to the dining room, Itachi peered, silently observing the impossibly-colored-hair girl’s interactions with his mother. With just a few choice words and actions, she has already calmed his mother in the fraction of the time his father could. Itachi didn’t know how to comfort her directly except by helping in the household, and his little brother always ran away after one incident of too much wasabi. 

Sasuke always refused to elaborate.

Itachi shook his head; he will know one way or another — he hated not being unaware, as that often have dire consequences — and focused on the usual scene of his mother indulging in strange food.

He dearly loved his mother, yet he couldn’t bear to leave the shadows. He was aware how similar his lifestyle was to a shinobi’s, but unlike them, Itachi truly lived literally in the darkness. That and he lived in there because of the safety the darkness provides; if he couldn’t be seen, he wouldn’t be forced to do something he didn’t want. He wouldn’t be ordered or guilted into becoming a shinobi, and the less murderers there are, the better.

Still, he couldn’t deny that it was a lonely existence. Random encounters with his followers — some children he freed from an underground facility some years ago — could only go so far since they’re all, himself included, silent as a stone. Him, by choice, since he wasn’t the greatest conversationalist and he didn’t know what to say to children; the children by necessity — they had to cut their tongues off to get rid of those damnable seals.

Conversation consisted of sign language and charades, but the children were obviously happy and lively. It was enough for all of them to keep their sanity and freedom intact. The bandaged man the children call “Danzo-sama” may consider them as valuable weapons, but Itachi is pleased that they’re now freed from the shinobi way.

The final clink of spoon against empty bowl signaled his mother’s end of indulgence. Slowly, she stood up, and the girl rushed next to her to help her up. 

A part of Itachi longed to be the one holding his mother, to touch her belly and feel his youngest sibling kick. He wanted to hug and touch his family again; his little brother whom he held last months after the Kyuubi Incident, and even his father when the latter stared sightlessly at their family picture in his study. 

Guilt twinged in his chest. He had coldly dismissed his father earlier with an abrupt change of topic, but the ingrained fear of the early years of his father and the clan tricking him to become something he didn’t want vehemently cautioned him. It was obvious that his father was now repentant and trying hard to make amends, but Itachi just couldn’t erase the image of his father snapping in rage once things refused to go by his way.

It was easy to remember why, for all intents and purposes, he ran away. He had only seen a small portion of the Third Shinobi War, but it was enough to activate his bloodline limit and engrave the _crystal clear stench and color and feel of —_

Itachi shuddered, pulling his blanket closer and tried to relax silently. He wasn’t there anymore. He was here, at home. Even if it didn’t feel like it.

The clink of the bowl being stacked on the dirty plates on the kitchen took his attention again. Mother was apologizing for making the guest help and swore to make Shisui and Sasuke wash the dishes for four months straight or _else_ , smiling all the while. The girl smiled and nodded, apparently mad that the boys forgot to assist a pregnant woman with chores, but very skilled enough to hide it.

The girl has the makings of a shinobi already — cunning, yet kind and sweet — something his mother evidently wanted him to be, but couldn’t.

How did it feel to live openly amongst his family? He hadn’t activated his Sharingan before being brought to the Horror, so Itachi only have vague recollections of his family life.

A giggle sounded from the girl. It looked like the plan for the boys to wash the dishes extended to six months. Beside his mother, they created a picture of familial bliss and contentment — something that could last without the shinobi lifestyle.

So why on earth was she throwing her life away?

 _She is naive_ , Itachi decided as he observed the girl’s eyes, different from the eyes of his followers. They were bright and untainted, very unlike the haunted gazes the adults often have around the village. Some wore them openly, but some managed to hide them. Itachi wasn’t a shinobi — despite his skills, he wasn’t one — yet he had seen and heard enough all throughout Konoha.

“Shinobi are people, heroes,” the Fourth had once told him, when Itachi went to him to reveal what his father and clan elders planned to do. He had thought that the Fourth might be more willing to listen, but it turned out that he was more subtle in persuasion. Talking with him had flashed an epiphany with Itachi and he realized then, with stunned horror, how pretty the lies are if the village — and the world — he lived in glorified murderers. His terror further grew when he realized that one of the greatest of them was kneeling before him, smiling.

Itachi frowned. Will this girl dissolve into such a paradox — killing enemies, yet embracing her family with the same hands?

 _If I had become a shinobi, I would have surely snapped and massacred my clan_ , Itachi was sure.

Finished with cleaning the kitchen, his mother led the girl away from the room and turned off the lights, leaving him free to silently scurry inside. Itachi could still hear his mother tell the girl to get water whenever she wished (“— but do avoid touching the special cabinet. You’ll know it when you see it— “) before he swept further into the house, still attached to the ceiling.

One of the things he unintentionally found as a boon to his situation was his Sharingan. At first, he despised it for marking him as a member of his frightening clan and for giving clear-cut memories of the Horror, but now, in the middle of the night, it opened the world of darkness to Itachi.

Every nook and cranny was revealed, the grains and lines of the wood counted. Add in the angle of being upside down, the world became more surreal than normal, another reason he preferred this position. He glided on his personal floor, the furniture magically hanging above his head with an unseen force. Itachi stopped by a window, and peered down; just after the edge of the roof, endless ocean of air and clouds lay.

It might be something ordinary for shinobi to travel upside down, but for Itachi, it was something worth reveling in. 

In the dark, he was _free_.

He could be whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted, sometimes daringly out in the open yet still safe. No blatant avoidance of his family, no surreptitious helping of chores, no need to hide like a criminal — like _he_ was the one who regularly partake in awful things. The comforting chill, the symphony of crickets permeating the otherwise peaceful silence…

Childish it may sound, it was _all_ his.

Then a door slid open.

Itachi sighed softly at the sound as he scurried to the corner of the living room. He didn’t like it when his special world gets disturbed, but he understood that nature calls at unpredictable times. It was fortunate that it was the girl who stepped down the stairs, noisy in the quiet night. Itachi meant to greet her later, after all, and ask about her heritage and chosen lifestyle. He just didn’t think that he would get an opportunity so soon.

The girl entered the kitchen, and Itachi followed, taking sure to be directly above so that he wouldn’t be seen unless he wanted to. Nobody looked up unless something called attention from above, after all. As the girl narrowly missed bumping into Mother’s special cabinet, Itachi pondered his mental checklist born from his parents’ advice on talking with people.

He shouldn’t activate his Sharingan, because people found them frightening. Itachi could attest to that, but how would he see the girl? How would the girl see him without revealing much of his form? Itachi disliked being in the open or being in the light — or being seen at all because if people remembered how he looked, the clan would get a higher chance to capture him. 

But the girl was his little brother’s teammate. Naruto regularly stares at Sasuke’s eyes when they were arguing, and since, if he was correct, she has been loose acquaintances with the two for years, so she should be used to it.

The next on the list was to be unfailingly polite, even if the guest doesn’t deserve it. An Uchiha must be dignified at all times, he heard his father say to Sasuke several times, and that meant being polite despite the urge to yank someone head’s off.

Personally, Itachi thought that anything remotely resembling Uchiha dignity had died ever since the rumors spread. He didn’t understand the need to cling to dignity if it only made one look unfeeling or constipated.

The last one was more technical; light. It was understandable for a civilian to be frightened by a voice coming from the dark, like that delegate years ago, but this girl was a shinobi. It was practically in her training to be able to fight (and kill) in various places, especially in unfavorable conditions, so Itachi felt it rather unimportant to switch the lights on for her. 

As if in response, a bump sounded from above him. Itachi frowned as the girl uttered a soft “Ow”. Maybe she wasn’t fully capable at maneuvering in the dark yet? Untrained as she was though, it was very obvious that she was taking pains to keep silent so that the people upstairs would not awaken. 

This kind sentiment struck Itachi. _Maybe there’s hope yet_ , he thought. An unseen smile crawled up Itachi’s face, and he resolved to at least gift the girl the benefit of sight. This once.

In the kitchen, Sakura sighed in relief. She didn’t know why, but she felt as if someone was watching her, and he or she just left. _The Myth? Itachi-san?_ Looking around and extending her senses revealed no one, and the feeling bothered her so much that she ended up bumping and bouncing all throughout Mikoto-san’s furnitures. It was by sheer luck that she only barely crashed into the Special cabinet, which was ornately carved and drawn with glowing blue kanji of _‘Protect’_. 

Sakura winced as she prodded at her bruised shin. Since no one was barreling downstairs, the noise she made were probably quieter than she thought; they sounded so loud in the dead of night.

“Where is the fridge?” she mumbled as she tried to see around.  She should’ve studied the kitchen before plowing through, or better yet, turned on the light, but the uneasy stalker vibes she was getting from… _somewhere_ … just turned off all common sense. She would’ve forgone getting a drink altogether if she hadn’t felt the gut suspicion that whatever was watching her, it would have no qualms going into her room and provide her water.

Well, from what Mikoto-san had said, Itachi-san was polite, always accommodating, and frighteningly perceptive, but the thought of a glass of water coming from the darkness unnerved her.

“Ugh,” Sakura groused. She was thirsty and she wanted to sleep. Simple. She shifted her feet to stand up, but a brush of heat swept her toes. Rattled, Sakura snapped to look up, only to find… wood? 

Furrowing her pink brows in an unknowingly cute manner that would’ve sent the Uchiha matriarch in hysterics, Sakura stood and studied the large, flat wooden surface. A handle protruded from a side, a feature it shared with its cabinet brethren. Like them, it was probably a polished deep brown in the light, but in the dark, it the brown was submerged in black. But it had heat coming from under it, and listening closely, she could hear it… humming? 

“The fridge!” Sakura called out triumphantly. A yank on the handle released chill; a small light at the back illuminated through the transparent pitchers, sparkling like treasure. With a happy sigh, Sakura grabbed one and placed it on the kitchen island. Then she paused.

“Where are the glasses?” she asked aloud, torn between being happy of accomplish a half of her goal and anguished that she had to navigate the dark again just to find a glass. It didn’t help that except for Mikoto-san’s Special cabinet, every furniture looked the same in the kitchen — even the fridge, yes — flat, polished, and dark. The Special cabinet glowed in the dark, calling attention it like a centerpiece of some sort of an artful arrangement, and belatedly, Sakura realized that the kitchen was probably arranged to be that way. 

Sakura frowned and looked away. She was beginning to trust the village’s talk of how crazy the Uchiha are. Seriously, if Mikoto-san didn’t want her Special cabinet to be touched, why make it that so attention-grabbing that it just begged to be touched? Then she shook her head; now was not the time to ponder such things. She should just drink and go to sleep, then hightail it like crazy tomorrow. _Simple_. But, where are the normal glasses, then?

“At your right, the first drawer.”

Sakura nodded, squinting and groping as she made her way to the mentioned area. After five steps, it occurred to her: how did she know about this when earlier, she didn’t? Somebody else must’ve told her, then. She turned to where the voice came from, embarrassed of how lost she must look and how delayed she was at giving her gratitude.

“Thanks,” she called out to…

Nothing.

Sakura froze. Then sighed.

It was obvious that she was going mad from dehydration. The Uchiha were extreme, after all, so it would make sense that going thirsty would immediately translate into the end of the spectrum, after all.

Yes, she was going crazy staying in this house.

Happy with that conclusion — she refused to think of anything else — _SIMPLE_ — Sakura exhaled. But before she could turn back, she heard an unfamiliar voice call out, “Up here.”

And Sakura could only look up. 

Propped up on the ceiling like a brooding barnacle, was someone — _something_. It watched her with glowing blood-red eyes, glaring through messy black hair that fell in wild waves around it. Some sort of cloth — _robe?_ — swathed the — the _thing — person — bat —_

A shift of his clothing instantly snatched her attention. Frozen in fear that he would finally release some sort of evil, poor Sakura can only watch numbly as the famous myth retrieved a cylindrical object and… pointed it at its face.

A _click_ , and the flashlight illuminated his — its — face — and _oh nooooo he’s gonna show his face before it kills meeeee_ — 

“Hi,” it said. In the dark kitchen, the sole source of light under the infamous myth's chin displayed its twisted features that contorted in a sick parody of a smile. “I’m Itachi.”

———————————— 

The following morning, another rumor spread that the Uchiha was haunted by new spirit: the Banshee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little story was inspired by three things:
> 
> \- a line from one of the ItaSaku fics I’ve read, namely _The woes of being Uchiha Itachi_ by **primary colours123**
> 
> The line in question was:  
>  _("He is a myth" reported a particularly gossipy and energetic granny of 90, nodding importantly.)_
> 
> \- the character Kiri Komori from _Sayonara, Zetsubou-sensei_. 
> 
> \- the shortage of awkward!Itachi fics. I wondered what would happen if I leaned towards the heavily awkward Itachi, lol. :D
> 
> Anyhoo, that's it for now! To be honest, I didn't mean to post this fic until I've completed the whole series, but then I just felt I _should_ post it. Gah. 
> 
> So you'll have to wait for me to finish plotting the sequel (which is full of total AU anarchy) before I can start writing it... which I'll do after finishing my other ItaSaku fics, like _Salt & Paprika_, _Home_ and _Where the Heart Is_ , _Of Monsters & Men_, _Running to Stand Still_...


End file.
